The Way Home
by Cookie Master's Apprentice
Summary: Things have been perfect with Dad and I, until that day. The day monsters start showing up. The day my dad suddenly bought me a train ticket, gave me his old journal, and told me to go find where I really belong, my real home. But where is really "home"?
1. Prologue

**Hi. This is a new story I have been working on for five months. It's kind of a spoiler because it was a long while after my other stories, but I can't wait to publish this. Besides, I've made a promise to a friend that I'll do it, so here it is.**

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**The Way Home**

_by Hecate's Apprentice 1997_

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Prologue

Claira Feye waited impatiently outside her mother's room. She was pretty well shaken about this stuff. But her mother is a goddess, she told herself. Hecate would be fine. After all, it was just a baby.

A baby. Claira shuddered.

"Oh my gods," a new voice full of feinted surprise said next to her. "Claira had baby phobia? Man, I've gotta post that on the news board."

The witch grounded her teeth, and without opening her eyes, said, "If you dare, Silvera, I swear on my friends' grave that I will cut you to pieces! I do not care what happens to my soul afterward!"

A teenager with black hair and flashing blue eyes, the one who was regarded as "Silvera", laughed. "Aw, c'mon, Claira! Loosen up! It's not like the end of the world or anything," he said, punching her in the arm. Claira scowled at him and turned away. "What? You don't want another brother?" he asked.

"Don't be stupid. I want that baby. He's my brother," Claira shot back, then paused thoughtfully. "But what I fear is: why don't we keep him here, with us? I've done some researches on this Mr. Williams. He's a great person, but he had heart problems. He wouldn't live too for too long. If Mr. Williams die, then the boy will have to end up on the run. Keeping him here will be much safer."

Silvera nodded. "I have the same thoughts, but the child must be raised by his mortal parent. If any goes wrong, we could always send out a canine agent or something to pick him up."

Claira snorted. "Your canine agents didn't look very well these days, captain. I don't want a half-dead dog going around protecting my brother. I need a good guardian."

Silvera looked offended. "Hey, give them a break. After chasing down a traitorous group of renegade wizards, don't they deserve a break?" he asked her. And besides, Olympians aren't supposed to interfere with their kids' faith, remember?"

"You picked me up when I was thirteen," Claira reminded Silvera. "You helped me with numerous quests. Why couldn't the same go for my brother here?"

Silvera sighed. "You are an exception. You are destined to come here and be Hecate's right-hand lieutenant. Your new brother is not. Whatever his fate is, Hecate could no longer interfere with it. The moment he gets turned to his father, he is on his own."

Claira nodded. The two became quiet, listening to the noises inside. But there was none. Not even a soothing sentence. Hecate doesn't need soothing. She prefers the bitter truth, and being a goddess of magic, she could give herself a painkiller spell anytime.

Finally, the sound of a baby's crying could be heard. And then Martha, the lady that had been chosen to go with Hecate as she gives birth (Claira shuddered again at the thought), exclaimed, "Oh, what a handsome little boy we've got here!"

"He'll be pretty if he looks exactly opposite as you are," Silvera whispered slyly and ducked as Claira reached out to punch his face. They knocked on the door together, simultaneously.

The door swung open, and they didn't look that surprised to see Hecate already on her feet, dressed in a simple nightgown and looking with great joy at the little dark blue bundle in Martha's arms. Claira made a few strange gagging sounds at the thoughts of "baby", and Silvera had to bite into his finger to stop himself from laughing out loud.

"Claira," Hecate said, taking the bundle from Martha. The goddess smiled at the woman who helped her. As far as Claira knows, Martha had served under Hecate for more than twenty-seven years in wizard's calendar. Despite her middle-aged look, Martha was one thousand nine hundred and forty-seven years old. She was born in 1913, and the current year was 2060.

"Yes, Mother?" Claira stepped forward. Hecate's room was on the top of her island, where she lived with her students. From her lightly veiled bed-room which had no window whatsoever, Claira could see the clear moon and ocean in the horizon. The island ground was covered with trees and paths and students no younger than fifty years old in human years running around arguing about who gets to ride the griffon next and things like that.

Hecate handed her the bundle. Claira glanced at her brother. Not too bad. He wasn't sleeping, but he wasn't crying, either. Good boy. "Take him to Mason's house," the goddess said. "Leave a note telling him what name this child is to have."

"And what is it?" Claira asked, observing the child. He had violet eyes, typical of Hecate's kids, and his hair was brown. He wasn't a mirror image of Hecate like she was; his features were sharper, but no one could say he was not like her.

The goddess of magic smiled lightly, touching the child's forehead. "His name is Eremeth. Eremeth Williams."

Claira raised an eyebrow at her mother's peculiar choice of name, but she decided not to argue. "Eremeth" in Runic, the mages' language, means "truthful one". Or it could also mean "unlikely". She hoped it was the first, not the last.

Nodding, Claira turned to leave the room. "C'mon," she told Silvera. "Let us go."

Except she wasn't talking to a person. In Silvera's place was an obsidian husky, big as a horse and of course, mountable. He growled in anticipation and followed her.

That left Hecate and Martha alone in the room together. The old mage turned to her goddess with curiosity. "My lady, I could have taken that baby myself," she said, but not with dislike. Martha wasn't known for her dark feelings toward just about anyone but Thomas the Prankster and his gang.

Hecate shook her head. "No, not you. I want to see how my daughter reacts toward having a new brother. She is not the kind that likes to be the second to best. I think she took it well," Hecate replied. She turned toward the moon and watched as a shadow of a wolf shot toward the ocean and then vanished. The goddess sighed once more before gesturing with her hands and closing the blinds surrounding her "room".

Martha took that as a clue for her to leave. She hastily did so.

0o0o0o0o0

Claira was having trouble. It had been a long time since she runs errands for her mother, and to be honest, she was growing old. Silvera wasn't, though, and that was the unfortunate part. He was, in fact, using this little chance of freedom to show off his speed.

"Slow down, for the gods' sake!" Claira screamed against the winds, clutching Eremeth tightly. The baby wasn't crying. It made her wonder if Hecate had put a silence spell on him before giving him to her.

"What? Getting scared, old lady?" Silvera growled back, his paws barely touching the water. Claira had put a special spell on his legs to run above the water surface.

"You wish!" Claira shouted. "It's the baby, you birdbrain!"

Silvera chuckled, but he did as he was told; he slowed down. After all, Lady Hecate and Claira would have his head if the baby drops into the sea or something. No use in asking Poseidon back the kid then. His sharks would have already devoured him.

At two o'clock in the morning, they arrived at their destination: Mesquite, Texas. Claira walked the streets, fearing some mortals might poke their heads out and call the police and at the same time, looking for house number 1213. When she found it, she fished out a note and put it on Eremeth's bundle. The baby had fallen asleep on their journey. Then the lieutenant of Hecate put him down on the doorstep.

"Good luck, my brother," Claira whispered. Then looking wistfully at him one last time, she turned on her heels and looked at Silvera, her partner. "It's time we leave."

Together, they vanished into the night.

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**That is only the prologue. I will probably just delete it if this sucks. But reviews are appreciated. And if you want to know about Claira Feye and her history, check out my other two stories: The King of Monsters and The Souls of Magic. Second one still not finished yet, but it will be. Soon.**

**Thank you for reading. **


	2. Ravens of Death

**Update on this story, zero on the others. Sorry! I'm just in for this one right now. I'm working on The Souls of Magic's next chapter, though, and it will come out soon. Enjoy! Thank you, Cassandra, for reviewing. I still need a lot of work, though. It's not perfect yet...**

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**Ravens of Death**

Eremeth Williams shielded his face with his hand as he stepped outside onto the playground of his school. It had never been great days when it was dark and humid outside, and now it was worse: it was dark, humid, and the ground was covered with mud. Most of the children were standing on the sidewalk and watched the light rain falling, while a few others grabbed the kid nearest to them and threw him into the mud.

"Why are you shielding your eyes? It's not sunny," a voice said next to Eremeth, and he turned to find Nate Cahill looking at him with amused brown eyes.

"I don't want the water in my eyes, and wearing goggles is not really an option, is it?" Eremeth replied, his voice light and vague, but it still had a small edge to it. Nate rolled his eyes. He had told his friend many times to drop that tone, but of course, the boy never listened.

Nate didn't argue. Eremeth didn't usually speak more than five sentences when he was asked something, unless the answer requires details. Then it would still be under fifteen sentences, each containing about five to seven words. Eremeth didn't seem to get the word _talkative_.

"Aw, c'mon, bro, become lively!" Nate started shaking Eremeth like he was a rag doll. Eremeth brushed him away, annoyed. He liked Nate, but sometimes the African American kid was just too "lively" for him. Of course, the two weren't really brothers. Nate was dark-skinned, dark-haired that was braided into long braids and one of the most famous pickpocket masters around the school, while Eremeth was slim, brown-haired and always looked like he was sleepwalking with weird violet eyes that never seemed to focus on anything. Sometimes Nate had to click his fingers right in front of Eremeth's nose to check if he was listening or not. ADHD or not, Eremeth was still a weird case for a kid.

Shaking his head, Nate stopped shaking his friend and looked down the line. The English teacher, Mr. Johanson, was in the hospital because of a car accident that day, so they got a sub. The sub was somebody called Miss Howard, a blonde, and she does not appreciate blonde jokes. After handing out a few detentions, the sub herded them outside and told them to "look around at your surroundings and find something you don't see everyday". That was their assignment. Miss Howard was out for some coffee right now, so the kids were practically free.

Nate's eyes fell right onto Katrina Hall's pocket, where a Hershey's candy bar could be seen. He smiled, wriggling his fingers. Time to do some thieving.

"Katrina is Mario Bobo's crush," Eremeth said suddenly. Nate glanced up at his friend. Mario Bobo was the biggest, ugliest, dumbest kid around the sixth grade classes, and he was also the leader of the biggest bully gang around the entire neighborhood. Tangling with them would be like tangling with a pact of hungry tigers, Eremeth had said.

"But tigers aren't that fat or dumb," Nate had interjected when Eremeth had told him so. He received a chilly look for his trouble, but a ghost of a smile had played on Eremeth's lips, so Nate considered himself a winner.

Another thing the two did _not_ have in common: how easy Nate could make a joke and laugh. "You look like all the happiness has been sucked out of you the day you were born," Nate had reasoned once. Eremeth had never been caught laughing out loud. He also didn't seem to understand jokes at all or only a few of them.

"Uh-huh, and?" Nate prodded. He knew what Eremeth meant by telling him that. Heck; any fool would have, but Nate wanted to see if he could just squeeze another sentence out of his friend.

Eremeth gave him a sharp look. Nate rolled his eyes. "Okay, Mr. Depress, I get it. You don't want to be asked a dumb question. I wonder why I went through so much trouble to befriend a droid!" Nate huffed, then worked his way to Katrina. Eremeth didn't look at him. If somebody catches him staring, they would follow his gaze, and another would do the same thing, then another, then another, until Katrina notices what was going on. It would only spell "early death" for Nate. As annoying as he could be most of the time, Eremeth didn't want to have to attend his funeral so soon.

Eremeth started to count silently. When he reached sixty-five, Nate emerged from behind him and held up his newly acquired Hershey's chocolate bar. "How long did that take?" he asked Eremeth.

"Sixty-five seconds," the boy replied. "Not bad."

Nate stared at Eremeth, wide-eyed. "Oh my God!" he breathed. "I got a compliment from the crankiest, strictest and most boring friend in Mesquite! Should I consider that a blessing?"

Eremeth stared at him until Nate held up his hands. "Sorry," he apologized hastily. Eremeth turned away and scanned the surroundings. Nothing that he had never seen everyday. The trees, the playground, the trashcans, the old sweeper, the birds, and the ravens.

"Oh my God," one of the kids standing next to Eremeth and Nate breathed. "Look at the crows!" Other children started to make awed noises and many pointed fingers at the black masses that crowded all the trees and the cables.

It was impressive indeed: hundreds, if not thousands black ravens with ruby eyes were looking down at them. Eremeth suddenly felt a strange fear that he had never felt before. He had watched a movie that showed how the ravens could kill people, and that many crows could certainly kill thirteen kids with no defense except for some rocks and Nate's candy bar, but that wouldn't do so much damage to the crows.

Then Eremeth's eyes zeroed on the ravens' beaks. His heart skipped a beat. "Nate, I think it's a good time for us to run," he breathed. Nate looked over at him, alarmed. Eremeth had dropped his vagueness, so it had to be something serious.

Fast as lightning, Nate dashed toward the door and tried it out. It was locked fast. Miss Howard didn't give them the key either. Eremeth's heart raced faster as the ravens started to fly down, and Nate's sudden stream of curses and yanking noises didn't help it. He knew the door couldn't be accessed. He had seen Miss Howard lock it and put the lock into her pocket.

"Hey, their beaks look weird," Katrina said suddenly, pausing in her smooth-out-your-hair process. "They look almost like…metal."

"Impossible," another girl, Mary Bloor, protested in a high-pitched voice. "There's no such thing as ravens with metal beaks. You need glasses."

Eremeth disagreed silently. Now that the ravens were closer, he could also see that their talons were metallic. They looked like they were molten out of bronze and razor sharp. Eremeth felt goosebumps on his arms as he thought of how much it will hurt if those talons and beaks start attacking him.

The rest of the children were now backing away. Some girls started clutching each other and Eremeth could swear he saw a boy's knees start knocking together. He turned to look at Nate. His friend was picking the lock with a clip. A girl stood next to him, her face white.

Eremeth rushed toward the door. Many did the same, but he reached there first. "Open it!" he breathed.

"I'm trying here!" Nate said through gritted teeth. "My apology if I don't have enough lock to practice on!"

The ravens suddenly gave a unison crow, and then Eremeth started to hear screams, shrieks and shouts of pain. Something jabbed at his shoulder, penetrating his jacket and sank right into his skin. Eremeth howled in pain and swatted the thing away. It went away alright, yanking the blade out of his shoulder, and it hurt even more.

Eremeth crouched down, holding his arms above his face to stop the now attacking crows away from his vitals. Many tore at his jacket, his shirt, and one even narrowly missed his neck, but good ol' Nate punched the raven as hard as he could and down it went. Eremeth then felt like somebody had dumped a bag of sand on his neck.

"What is that?" he shouted over the crows and screams of his classmates. Next to him, Nate's face looked like a bunch of angry cats had decided to take all their troubles out on it, and his left hand was full of a kind of black nasty sand.

"The raven exploded!" Nate said in wonder. "I punched it and it explodes, man!"

Now it was Eremeth's turn to shake Nate as hard as he could. "Focus! We are about to get torn into vulture's food!" he shouted. Nate blinked a few time, then nodded mutely and turned back to the lock.

By now, blood littered the ground. Eremeth looked with absolute horror as one of the ravens pecked viciously at a girl's shoulder. He saw the beak slid into it as a sword slides into a pillow. The girl stumbled over and lied very still.

"Jesus helps us," Eremeth muttered. He was seized back to reality when his face was attacked by another wave of demonic crows. His hand fell on a stone and he used it to bash the crows away. Nate was right; the ravens turned to dust as they were killed. Eremeth's whole body stings, and he had the disturbing thought of infection, but quickly pushed that aside and concentrated on not being eaten by crows.

What seemed like hours later, Eremeth heard Nate give a triumphant shout and the door swung open. "C'mon!" Nate shouted over the crows and all the other noises. "Who wants to live, follow me!" Then he grabbed Eremeth by the arm and they dashed inside.

When they were safely inside the building, the principal herself matched toward them, rage written all over her face. "What in the name of all the present gods are you children do – " She stopped short at the sight of the ravens and the blood outside. Mrs. Callahan looked like she was about to faint. "Goodness! What in the world was that?" she breathed, placing her hand over her heart.

"Winged pawns of Satan," Nate replied glumly, looking out the glass on the door. The ravens didn't try breaking it, which Eremeth was sure they could. Instead, they flew away. When they were gone, the sidewalk in front of the door was littered with black feathers, droplets of blood, and piles of black sand and…

"Is that eyeballs?" Eremeth said. There were a few gagging and puking sounds and "Ew, Eremeth!" that could be heard from the battered kids that were either sprawled on the floor, leaned against the locker, or sitting with their head between their legs.

Eremeth stood up from his seat on the floor and limped over to stand near the door. "They're eyeballs indeed," he murmured as his lunch started going up his throat. "At least there were none that are human's. Only the crows'."

Nate, though, apparently did not hear him. "Everyone, check if both of your eyeballs are still there!" he called out. "If not, go out there and retrieve it!"

There was silence, and then the kids burst out laughing. Eremeth looked behind him and at his classmates with surprise. They had nearly been on the edge of death, and now they were _laughing_? Eremeth glanced at Nate, who was having a smile and was chuckling himself. _Perhaps Nate was right,_ he thought, smiling. _Having a joker after a crisis is the best thing that can happen to a man unlucky enough to be in a crisis in the first place._

**Well? Do you like Eremeth so far? I like Nate better. He's based off of a kid in my school. That boy is just hilarious! Class clown, I might say.**

**Reviews are appreciated. I won't beg for them.**


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